Never Easy
by Lawliet Veneziano
Summary: A depressive fiction, exploring how America might /really/ feel about being the hero all the time. Danger; character death


No matter how many times he said it, told himself, exclaimed it to others with a big flashy grin and a thumbs-up, he still felt deep inside it wasn't true. That he was no hero.

I can't stand to fly  
I'm not that naïve  
I'm just out to find  
The better part of me

He'd spent so long trying to get others to believe it, to see him as a hero, that it became too automatic for him to yell it. Even when inside his mind, heart and soul became cold against those words. He was no hero, and even if he once had been he wasn't one anymore.

I'm more than a bird…  
I'm more than a plane  
More than some pretty face beside a train

But at some point someone started believing he was one, it spread, and he couldn't stop it. He wanted to tell them the truth, he was no hero, no great man, no great nation; but even if he did he knew, it wouldn't reach them. They needed a hero when all went to hell.

It's not easy to be me

So why did it have to be him?

I wish that I could cry  
Fall upon my knees  
Find a way to lie  
'Bout a home I'll never see

He'd go to meetings and pretend, pretend; pretend he was happy, pretend all was well, pretend he could fix everything when really he couldn't even fix himself. He wished more than anything that they would stop looking to him, treat him as nothing more than them again; then maybe he could break down in front of them, maybe he could cry in front of them.

It may sound absurd…  
But don't be naïve  
Even Heroes have the right to bleed

At home he'd lay alone on his bed, stare at the razor held in one hand, just staring; then he'd close his eyes and fall asleep to the world, trying to escape everything as his wrist would slowly bleed. It wasn't like heros could die right? He never did.

I may be disturbed…  
But won't you concede  
Even Heroes have the right to dream

Dreaming of the past, of being helped, being held, being loved. Independence tasted so bitter when all it brings you is to a world of emptiness. He knew he wanted to be the hero, he wanted others to say it too; but it felt so bitter when it takes the sacrifice of another.

It's not easy to be me

A knock at the door stirred him from his slumber.

Up, up and away…  
Away from me  
Well it's all right…  
You can all sleep sound tonight  
I'm not crazy…or anything…

No one is there. No one stands at the door; he hid away his shame and wrist for nothing. He turns to walk away but the scent of badly made scones and maple syrup drenched pancakes stops him. He must be crazy, or else guilt of being the hero has taken over his senses.  
"stop it." softly he mutters this to no one.

I can't stand to fly

"I'm the hero" is echoed back at him.

I'm not that naïve

"no I'm not."

Men weren't meant to ride  
With clouds between their knees

He closed the door quickly but fell to his knees. Voices calling him hero, people pushing weight onto his shoulders. Something in him can't survive this and he knows it.

I'm only a man in a silly red sheet  
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street

He gets up and ran away from the door, runs to his room, his room. Its where he knows the voices won't follow, the weight will disperse, and he can rest alone.

Only a man in a funny red sheet  
Looking for special things inside of me

The scents still follow though, reminding him. Tuesday was that one person's birthday, but how do you give a present to the dead? He ducks away under his blankets; no, no, no, he doesn't want to be a hero anymore, don't call him one.

Inside of me ...... inside of me ...(x2)

Please, leave him alone; he can't fix anything even himself.

I'm only a man in a funny red sheet

He doesn't want to be a hero, he isn't a hero, he wants to be himself.

I'm only a man looking for a dream

He grabbed for the razor quickly again.

I'm only a man in a funny red sheet

He closed his eyes and did it again. And again. And again.

It's not easy ...

France and Russia were nominated to go get America for the world summit meeting; it was going to start soon and they couldn't start without him. They found the door unlocked, the house empty; still Russia caught the faint smell of blood. He led France towards the source.

wu.. hoo.. hoo..

They found America on his bed, seeming so peaceful. The nations buried him on Tuesday, on England's birthday, beside his brother and his mentor.

It's not easy to be me...

He no longer had to be the hero.

Veneziano; this was written at 5 in the morning because I had a stomachache. Ve.  
Nihon: its not her best work but its good for an hour or so's work.  
Alfred:......  
Veneziano: the song is "It's not Easy" by Five for Fighting/David Gray. And yes Canada and England were dead before.


End file.
